


History Repeating

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: PG-13 - Blue Cortina, Police Procedural, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-08
Updated: 2009-01-07
Packaged: 2019-01-20 19:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Sam and Litton held hostage together, a pair of shoes, an old book.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for [culf](www.livejournal.com/~culf) as an entry in the lifein1973 ficathon.

  
Sam awoke with a groan, a splitting headache and only a vague idea of what events had transpired the night before.  
Sighing, he pushed the blanket off his legs and dragged himself out of bed, stumbling blindly toward the bathroom sink. Turning the tap on, he splashed cold water on his face until he felt awake enough to hazard a glance in the mirror. As Sam studied his bloodshot eyes and haggard reflection he noticed the faint outline of scarlet lipstick on his cheek. After a few long moments of pained confusion, his memory finally rewarded him with the recollection of the chaste farewell kiss Annie had given him before allowing herself to be pulled away by her husband.  
Sam cringed as the rest of the night started returning in flashes. It was Annie’s wedding and, from what he could remember, Sam had Gene to thank for his current state. The man had insisted on plying Sam with alcohol throughout the entire reception, refusing to believe that Sam wasn’t devastated over the loss of his "gal-pal".  
Just as Sam was fixing himself an instant coffee (with the bare minimum amount of water required for dissolving the coffee powder) and contemplating taking his first sick day, the phone rang. Setting the mug on the table Sam pulled a shirt on over his vest and picked up the phone from the bedside shelf.  
"Hello?" he mumbled.  
"Boss, you conscious?" Sam smiled.  
"Didn’t know you cared Phyllis." Balancing the phone on his shoulder he buttoned up his shirt and reached for his jacket.  
"I don’t," the voice on the other end snapped. "There’s a loony who’s taken two girl guides hostage down at number fifteen Queen street an’ the Guv told me to let you know that if you don’t get yer arse down there in the next ten minutes ‘e’ll have you crucified upside down by the bollocks."  
Sam cringed at the mental imagery.  
"Err, thanks... fifteen Queen street was it?"  
"That’s it, an’ anytime Boss."

  
Putting the phone back down, Sam wondered briefly if it were possible for a _voice_ to smirk before grabbing his keys and badge from the table. Casting one last longing look at his (still full) mug of coffee Sam left his flat, taking only a few seconds to lock it from the outside. Shoving his keys and badge inside his front jacket pocket he quickly made his way down the stairs.   
When Sam got outside and saw a plod waiting for him in one of the unmarked cars he made a mental note to have flowers delivered to C.I.D.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When the plod pulled the car over near Queen street Sam was relieved to see it had also been a dead-end street in seventy-three. He was, however, significantly less pleased to see the large group of people gathering at the opening of the road. Sam pulled out his badge as he stepped out of the car and used it to push through the crowd and past the officers that were holding them back. 

 

When Sam had received Phyllis’ call he'd known he would be the last of the team to arrive, but he hadn’t given much thought to how late he was until he noticed that the rest of the street had already been evacuated and that the team were now standing on the other side of a cordon (leaning back against the Cortina) and looking at what appeared to be a very large map. Gene was the first to notice Sam and waved him over with sarcastic enthusiasm.  
"Nice of you to finally join us, Samantha. Rough night?"  
Sam ignored him and instead turned to Chris, who shifted nervously on his feet.  
"Yeah, Boss?"  
"Run me through the situation. How are the hostages? The hostage taker? Any injuries?"  
Sam couldn’t help feeling proud when Chris started leafing through the pages of his notepad.  
"All still alive, Boss. Not shots fired yet. Accordin’ to the neighbours the hostage taker is a bloke in his fifties an’ we’ve got an eye witness who says he’s armed with one of those army issue pistols. Dunno much else, though. ‘e must be a bit of a loner if not even the neighbours know ‘is name." Sam nodded vaguely and gestured towards the house.  
"So you’ve already evacuated the street? And the surrounding flats?" Chris nodded.  
"Yeah."  
"And you’ve already got the inner and outer cordons out."  
"Yeah, Boss."  
"...and is that what I think it is?" Sam asked pointing to towards the large sheet of paper now spread out on the Cortina’s bonnet.  
"It’s a building plan, Boss." Drawled Ray, a smug look on his face, "got it from the landlord."  
Sam blinked.  
"That’s standard procedure!" Gene huffed.  
"No need to sound so shocked Gladys." Sam grinned.  
"I’m not shocked." He paused. "Might be dreaming though", still grinning he reached over and patted Chris on the shoulder. Three pairs of eyes stared at him, all sharing a pointed look that seemed to question his sanity. Without warning Gene stepped forward and pinched Sam (hard) on the arm. Sam yelped.  
"Still think yer dreamin’ then?" Sam glared at Gene while Chris and Ray laughed. "An’ if you’re almost done carryin’ on," Gene paused to smirk at Sam who was still rubbing his arm, "the nutcase left you a love letter."  
"What?"  
"The nut job threw a note out the window an’ yelled that if anyone but D.I. Tyler touched it they’d have more ‘oles in them than a can of ‘oops." Gene clarified. Sam raised his eyebrows but just as he was about to say something Chris cut in.  
"He didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout ‘oops Boss, but he was dead clear on you bein’ the person who ‘as to collect the note." Standing beside Chris, Ray was smirking.

"So the next question is who was yer last boyfriend, Boss, and what the ‘ell did you do to piss ‘im off?"   
Sam rolled his eyes as Ray took a bow while Chris grinned like an idiot and Gene looked amused.   
"Well, don’t make us wait all day, Gladys. Fetch us the bleedin’ note."   
"With pleasure, Guv."   
Stepping around the Cortina Sam headed off in the direction of the house. It was a double story flat with a single window on each floor, red brick walls and a slated roof. It looked exactly like every other house on the street and most of the houses Sam had lived in as a child. The note was lying a few feet away from him just below the window ledge, a perfect vantage point for someone inside the house to take a clean shot. Putting his hands up in a non-threatening manner Sam slowly made his way toward the note.   
"Hello?!" he shouted, eyes scanning the window for movement, "I’m Sam, D.I. Sam Tyler". He glanced quickly over his shoulder and was relieved to see Gene covering him with a gun aimed directly at the window. Clearing his throat Sam raised his voice. "I’m going to grab the note now." He waited a few seconds but when there was no reaction he edged close to where the crumpled piece of paper was lying and grabbed it. The note now clutched in his hand Sam quickly moved away from the house and back behind the Cortina. Unfolding the note, he skimmed it quickly and winced. Looking up he saw Gene giving him a questioning look. Sam jerked his head slightly, motioning for the man to meet him away from where Ray and Chris were studying the map.   
"What would you like? Good or bad news first?"   
Gene snorted.   
"Surprise me."   
"Well, the good news is we now have the hostage taker’s name and a good idea of the motive."   
"So what, dare I ask, is the bad news?"   
"The name is Angus Cole." Crossing his arms over his chest, Gene leaned back against the Cortina and groaned.   
"Tell me Tyler, why do I ‘ave this ‘orrible feelin’ you’re about to tell me somethin’ I’m not going to like?"   
Sam gave him a sympathetic smile before continuing.   
"Brother of Reginald Cole and the same Angus Cole who wrote C.I.D. a fair share of hate mail after Reg hung himself in his cell."   
"An’ there you go."   
Sam laughed bitterly.

"It gets better."   
"The suspense is killing me."   
"He’ got a vendetta against coppers." Gene feigned shock.   
"You’re kidding. An’ ‘ere I was thinking ‘e was going to invite us in for tea and Garibaldis."   
Sam ignored him.   
"The note says that Angus is willing to exchange his two hostages for a D.C.I. of our choice." Gene laughed.   
"Right you lot!" he yelled over to Ray and Chris. "There’s a tenner and a Party Seven in it for the first man who can bring Litton back ‘ere." He fished around in his pockets and brought out a five pound note. "Oh’ an’ an extra fiver if you can truss ‘im up like a turkey first." As Chris and Ray made a mad dash for the Marina Sam waited until Gene’s attention was back on him.   
"As I was saying before I was interrupted by a two year old with a badge," he muttered. "He’s willing to trade the hostages for a Detective Chief Inspector of our choice and Detective Inspector Sam Tyler." Sam paused. "He then goes on to say that he is unwilling to negotiate any other terms and that we have half an hour to respond or he suggests we begin searching for two miniature body bags."   
Gene gave a low whistle.   
"Well, don’t you feel special?" Sam rolled his eyes.   
"Somethin’ like that." Neither of them spoke for a minute, and then Gene nudged Sam with an (unexpectedly gentle) elbow to the ribs.   
"Sure ‘e won’t just take Litton?" he joked. Sam gave Gene a half-hearted smile and shook his head.   
"Doubt it." He handed over the note. "Take a look there," he pointed, "even underlined my name."   
Gene took a cursory glance at the offending article and shoved it back into Sam’s hands; then, reaching into the folds of his coat, he pulled out one of his many hip flasks. Taking a quick gulp he held it out to Sam who accepted it without remark. Sam brought the flask to his lips for a much deeper swig than he would usually take (on or off the job) before handing it back to Gene, thankful for the comforting burning sensation that trickled down his throat to his gut. Apart from a mildly impressed look Gene was uncommonly quiet, saying nothing until Sam eventually broke the silence.   
"So how long do you think we should wait before we go in?"   
Gene looked at him with an incredulous expression on his face.   
"Hold on, you’re not seriously considerin’ listenin’ to this loony are you?" Sam sighed.   
"Not a minute ago you were all for the idea." He reminded him gently.   
"That was when it were only Litton’s safety we ‘ad to worry about. You’re not goin’ in there! What if ‘e decides to finish off what ‘is brother started?!"   
"I’m counting on it. All we know about him is that he was fond of his brother an’ that he blames me specifically for his death. I’d be willing to bet you anything he’s only asked for a D.C.I. because he needs a high profile hostage to negotiate an exit strategy with after he’s killed me." Gene shook his head.   
"I don’t like it. Shouldn’t you be tryin’ to establish a rapper with the bastard then? Offer ‘im something for the release of one of the girls?"   
"Rapport." Sam corrected numbly, giving Gene a wry smile when the other man glared at him. "I don’t know. Apart from what he’s told us in the note he hasn’t demanded anything else yet. We’ll ‘ave to work around that once I’m inside."   
"Wait a minute. We’re still talking ‘bout getting those hostages out. Not giving ‘im another one!"   
"It’s not about the hostages. He’s using them as bargaining chips. I’m the one he wants." Sam barked back, frustration creeping into his tone.   
"All the more reason not to bloody line up to get yer head blown in." Gene hissed.   
"Look," Sam raised his hands in front of him, palms outwards, and tried for a placating tone. "The way he sees it, he’s trying to fulfil his duty to his brother by doing what Reg couldn’t. So it’s safe to assume that he’s going to want to recreate the moment where Cole had me at gunpoint. That means once we’ve gotten those hostages out we’ll have until two o’clock to stop him from following through with it."   
"And what happens if we don’t?"   
"Better me than two girl guides isn’t it?" Gene stared at him but Sam refused to back down. Gene looked at his watch and pursed his lips.   
"What is it now?" Sam asked, exasperated.   
"It’s twelve thirty."   
"So?"   
"By the time we get you an’ a D.C.I in there it’ll be ‘bout one. That’ll leave ‘im about an hour to twaddle on about what a saint ‘is dear deceased brother was before shootin’ you in the ‘ead."   
Sam winced. "Optimistic aren’t you?"   
"Tyler..."   
"I know, I know." Gene’s eyes widened.   
"Bloody ‘ell that was quick!" Sam pulled a face.   
"Now you’re being childish, it doesn’t always take me forever to agree with you."   
Gene waved at him dismissively.   
"No, not that. Ray an’ Chris ‘ave already got Litton." Sam turned around and sure enough, heralded by the overwhelming scent of cheap cologne, Litton was swaggering towards the two of them. From his oiled hair, to his pressed dark brown suit and thin little moustache, everything about him reminded Sam of a seedy car salesman.   
"Buenos dias, gents. I hear that you’re in need of some assistance?" Sam rolled his eyes.   
"It’s the afternoon." Litton blinked.   
"Your point, Inspector?"   
"The correct greeting would be Buenas tardes."   
"Well, I knew that. I just er- lost track of the time." He continued on hurriedly "Now, was there actually something you needed me for or did you only disturb me from real work for an Italian lesson." Sam opened his mouth to correct him again but decided it wasn’t worth it, choosing to go with cheap flattery instead.   
"We need a D.C.I. to infiltrate a hostage situation, we thought that as you have the most expertise in crisis management and, er ... avoidance situations you would-"   
"What Tyler here is trying to say is that the spastic in there is willin’ to swap the two little girls he’s got hostage for Tyler an’ a D.C.I." Litton blanched.   
"You’ve got to be kidding."   
"Don’t wet yerself, Litton. I need a D.C.I. ‘ere to lead the team while Tyler an’ I go in. Think you can manage that?" he asked with a sneer.   
"Gene..." Sam tried to interrupt but Litton was already talking over the top of him.   
"Oh no you don’t Hunt. This blag is mine! You got to play hero the last time!"   
Both men turned to face Litton, equally shocked. Gene recovered first.   
"If you ‘onestly think I give a rat’s arse abo-" but Sam cut him off.   
"Guv, I think Litton has a point." Gene stared straight at him, his expression torn between anger and betrayal.   
"Right. Tyler. A word."   
"We’re in the middle of-"   
"NOW!" Next thing he knew Sam was being dragged by his elbow to an area outside of Litton’s hearing range. "What the ‘ell do you think you’re doing?" Gene demanded his hands grabbing the lapels of Sam’s jacket and threatening to lift him from the ground. With a fair bit of force Sam pushed the hands away and stepped back, putting space between him and the enraged man. Gene was still glaring at Sam but was making no moves to attack him which Sam chose to interpret as a good sign.   
"Guv, think about it. Last time Litton was the officer in charge of the situation he barged in like a fool and almost got us killed. If he’s the other hostage then you’ll be the one calling the shots out here and we might have a chance of getting out of this alive." Sam watched Gene think it over and held back a sigh of relief as Gene visibly calmed.   
"That’s an awful lot of faith you’re putting in our team Sam." Sam had to admit the doubt in Gene’s voice was less than encouraging.   
"Not faith," Sam corrected, "trust." He smiled and Gene gave him an exasperated look.   
"Dorothy." Gene muttered as he spun around on his heel, stalking back over to Litton, yelling at the top of his lungs;   
"Well did you ‘ear that Litton, you get to pretend to be a real copper for a day!" 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam and Gene lasted only fifteen minutes of debriefing a less than cooperative D.C.I Litton before the name Angus Cole and his relationship to Reginald Cole came up.

“Right, let me see if I have this straight Hunt. The maniac in there who we’re about to entrust out lives to is Reginald Cole’s brother.” Litton asked in a strained voice. Gene nodded, wisely keeping his mouth shut. Litton turned to Sam. “You can’t possibly be intending to go through with this. Not after what his brother almost did to you.” Sam shrugged.

“Our first priority is securing the safety of those two girls. Beyond that we’ve got an hour to negotiate a peaceful resolution.” Litton blinked at him uncomprehendingly then turned back to Gene.

“Does he always talk like this?” Sam waited for Gene to roll his eyes and commiserate with Litton but was surprised when he just glared at him instead.

“Shut up! The only thing I want from you Litton is a yes or a no. Are you in? Or are you going to let those little girls die because you’re chicken-shit?  ‘Cause if that’s the case then Jackie Queen is going to have a field day when we let ‘er in on the details.” Sam wasn’t certain but he thought he heard Litton growl.

“Are you blackmailing me Hunt?” Gene feigned shock.

“Bloody ‘ell Litton, you really are a detective.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Separating from the group to check over his weapon Litton couldn’t help but wonder if he’d allowed his pride to make an incredibly stupid decision for him.

“Er, Sir?” Litton turned to see that useless Skelton kid standing awkwardly beside him.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“Well it’s just, er, the Boss said that...” Becoming frustrated by the amount of verbal stumbling, Litton made no effort to hide his impatience.

“Spit it out, constable.”

“Well y’know how this Cole is a bit of a loony?” 

Litton rolled his eyes in response. “Well, er, apparently,” Skelton leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper, “he has somethin’ against shoes.”

“What?”

“Shoes, sir. They drive him bonkers.” The kid nodded earnestly. “Boss said to make sure that you took off yer shoes before enterin’ the house or it might set ‘im off and he’ll kill both of you”

Litton squinted at him.

“You’re joking.”

Skelton shook his head.

“Deadly serious, sir.”  The face looked honest, Litton groaned.

“Well what am I supposed to do with them, leave them with Hunt?” 

“Er, might not be wise that. I could take ‘em sir. Hide ‘em somewhere safe if you like?” Litton eyed him warily but decided he looked like he was only trying to be helpful. It was hard to believe he was on Hunt’s team. Without a second thought Litton removed his shoes and passed them over.

“Fine, make sure you don’t cuff them. They’re Armani.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ray looked at Chris who was wandering back to him, his hands behind his back.

“So ?”

Grinning Chris brought his hands in front of him, revealing Litton’s shoes.

“Fell for it, didn’t he!” he forced out through a cheek splitting grin.

Ray chuckled and threw the butt of his cigarette to the ground.

“What a twat!” he grinned sinisterly. “Now let’s see what we can do to earn us another Party Seven from the Guv.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sam waited for Gene to finish talking with Vince before grabbing his attention.  
"What is it?"  
  
"Just wanted to go over a few details of the plan." Gene raised his eyebrows.  
  
"And?"  
  


“Guv, it wouldn’t hurt to have an ambulance on standby, as a precaution-”

“-in case one of you shoots the bastard?” Gene interrupted, not pausing long enough to receive an answer, “yeah, don’t worry we’ll get one ‘ere.”  Sam nodded, feeling slightly uneasy about the way the man wasn’t looking at him.  

“Also, you’ll want to make sure you have an officer waiting outside the door when we go in, we’re going to need someone to grab the girls as they’re released.”

“I’ll call a plod.” Gene said, still refusing to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam grimaced but continued.

“Another thing you might want to do is have everyone prepared for an armed assault in case it becomes necessary. You’ll want to be able to contain him in the area if things get bad.”

“Right, got it.” Gene nodded and then looked directly into Sam’s eyes. “But Tyler? This time if the nutter looks like ‘e might off ‘imself and save us the bleedin’ effort, could you let ‘im?” Something about the tone was sincere in ways that were so unusual for Gene that Sam wasn’t sure how to respond. He settled for a nod and smile. Gene returned neither, just turned his back and started studying the building map again.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  


Not long after his discussion with Skelton, Litton was leaning forward on the Cortina, looking at the house they were about to enter. Hunt was off talking to some of the plod behind the cordon and, on the other side of the Cortina, Tyler was busy loading his gun, spinning the cylinder, and lining up shots at invisible targets with hardened precision. Getting sick of watching Tyler repeat the same basic training drills Litton decided to break the silence.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Tyler gave him a sympathetic smile and was about to return to his drilling when he did a double-take, his eyes darting down to stare at Litton’s feet.

“Litton?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you’re not wearing any shoes, right?” Litton glared back at him.

“Of course I’m not. When are you taking yours off?” Tyler burrowed his eyebrows and gave him a slightly wary look.

“I was, um, intending to leave the on.” Litton spun around to face Tyler directly.

“What happened to not antagonizing the lunatic-” he paused midsentence as he saw the look of confusion turn to amusement as the man looked past him, at something behind his back. Turning and following his gaze, Litton was treated to the sight of DS Carling throwing his painfully expensive shoes onto the roof of a nearby house, while Hunt, the plod and that “trustworthy” Skelton kid were pissing themselves laughing. “Bastards!” he turned back around and saw that Tyler was smirking. 

“Cheer up Litton, when this is over I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes.” Litton scoffed.

“With your pay, Inspector? You couldn’t afford the laces.” Litton had meant it as an insult but Tyler had laughed it off before checking his watch. He looked up at Litton with an apologetic expression on his face.

“Almost one now, we better go.” Litton squinted at the door and then stared at the safety shield that was the Cortina.  He turned back and watched as Tyler exchanged a secret language of nods and hand signals with Hunt. 

“After you, Tyler.” He bit out. Tyler rolled his eyes but stepped out onto the lawn, Litton following close behind. Together, they crept toward the door, Litton raising his gun above Sam’s shoulder to cover the slightly shorter man as he fumbled with the handle. When they entered the room Angus was waiting for them patiently, sitting in an armchair with one of the girls on his lap, an old service pistol pointed at her temple with his finger poised on the trigger. The other girl was sitting in the far corner of the room, quivering and staring at the ground.

As Angus spotted Tyler he grinned, a feral smile that sent shivers down Litton’s spine.

“Ah, the infamous Sam Tyler, I’m so glad that you could finally join us. I think you’ll be wanting to leave those guns at the door now. I’m easily startled and with my finger resting on this trigger you wouldn’t want to startle me now, would you?”

Tyler moved the lower his weapon slightly but didn’t drop it.

“How do we know you’re not going to shoot her as soon as we put down our guns?” Litton asked eyeing him distrustfully. He thought it a reasonable question but judging from the dirty look Tyler gave him the inspector though otherwise. Litton hated to admit it but he was forced to agree when the little girl in Cole’s lap whimpered as the metal rim of the pistol was pushed harder against her forehead. Angus however just smiled.

“You have my word, Detective.” Litton felt like laughing.

“As if that means-“ he would’ve continue but he was suddenly distracted by the piercing pain in his toes as Sam brought the heel of his boots down on bare skin. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Without missing a beat Sam took over speaking to Angus.

“I think what D.C.I. Litton is trying to say is that we might be more inclined to trust you if you would release one of the girls to us first.”

“Quid pro quo, Sam?” the man asked sardonically. “Well in that case you can take that quivering thing in the corner. She’s been utterly boring.” Sam looked over at the trembling girl and gave her (what he hoped) came across as a confident smile.

“Ok, Angus, I’m just going to take...” he trailed off, hoping the girl hadn’t gone into shock. When she softly whispered “Anna” he gave her a warm smile.

“Anna” he repeated, facing Cole again, “outside and give her to one of the officers, then I’ll come right back.” Angus laughed.

“Oh, and I’m meant to take your word at a higher value. I seem to recall that you lied to my brother Sam.” Beside him Litton nodded, not seeming to like the plan that would leave him alone with the psychopath.

“You still have another hostage Angus, I wouldn’t leave a child behind.”

He stared at the girl on Cole’s knee as he said this, wincing as her bottom lip began to tremble. Cole was regarding her with a sadistic curiosity that reminded Sam of a child burning ants with a magnifying glass. The man turned and focused the same sinister gaze on Sam while he seemed to consider his words. Finally he nodded.

“You have a deal, but he –“

“D.C.I. Litton.” The man interjected angrily, appearing insulted at being ignored for so long.

“-stays where he is. So if you don’t come back he dies as well.” Before Litton could react Sam nodded his agreement.

“Fine.” Holstering his gun, Sam walked over to Anna who immediately extended her arms towards him. Scooping her up close to his chest he opened the door and walked outside. Despite his promises of getting a plod to handle it, Gene met Sam a few feet away from the door, taking the girl into his arms and making soft soothing noises as she cried. Stunned by the odd picture this created, it took a kick in the shins to startle Sam from his reverie and prompt him for the details Gene wanted.

“He’s about six foot, fit for his age and armed with a small pistol, exactly the same army issue as his brothers. He’s got the other girl at gunpoint.” Gene shifted Anna onto his hip (a difficult feat with the way she was clutching at his coat) and shook his head.

“We can see that, the way the bastard’s ‘olding ‘er it’s impossible to get a clear shot at ‘im through the window.”

Sam grimaced; disappointed but not surprised. He patted Gene on the shoulder gently, motioning toward the house with his thumb. Gene didn’t look happy. “Alright, go an’ get the other one, then.” He met Sam’s eyes with a fierce stare but didn’t say anything else, making it easier for Sam to turn away.

Running back toward the open door Sam drew his gun again and stepped inside. It looked like no one had moved at all since he had left. Angus turned the girl in his lap.

“See, the nice Inspector is back. Now I don’t have to shoot you.” Sam flinched as the girl let out a choked sob. 

“Deal’s a deal, Angus. I’m putting my gun down. Now, you let her go.” Angus gestured toward Litton.

“Him too.”

“Oh bloody hell.” Litton made a big show of it but eventually place his weapon on the carpet beside Sam’s. 

“Good, Good.” Angus grinned and started patting the girl on the back, “stop crying dear it’ll all be alright in a few moments.” Standing, Angus held the girl out in front of him. “Both of you stand back from your weapons”. Reluctantly the two men did as they were told. 

Angus stepped towards the door and placed the girl on the floor in front of him. “I’m going to let you go but before you run out the door you’re going to reach up and shut those curtains in front of the window for me. I’m going to keep pointing this gun at you but if you do as you’ve been told I won’t shoot. Alright?”

The girl looked confused. 

“Come on sweetie, just do as he says ok?” Litton piped up from behind Sam.  The girl nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. With the gun pointed at her back she moved tentatively to the window and, after struggling for a few seconds, finally drew the curtains shut. When she was done she turned back to Cole for confirmation. He smiled at her and shifted his gun to focus on the two men. 

“Ok you can leave now, just mind that you shut the door behind you.” The girl didn’t wait around for him to change his mind, breaking into a run she threw the door open and pulled it shut behind her. As the door slammed shut, Angus turned to face the two men with a feral smile.

“Ah we’re finally alone. It’s much better like this isn’t it, boys?”  Litton looked like he was going to laugh. 

“Alright Angus, you’ve got us where you want us. What now?” Sam asked, trying to keep a steady tone.

“Now? Well, now you two boys get to stay in there for a while,” with his free hand he gestured toward the cupboard under the staircase.  “And then at two o’clock we’re going to play a little game, but you already knew that didn’t you Sam?” Sam cringed but said nothing.

“Why all the foreplay? Why not shoot us both now?” Sam stared at Litton, wishing he was more shocked that the man could be so blatantly stupid. Angus however just looked at Litton with a bemused expression.

“Well that wouldn’t be very fun now, would it?” he sighed. “All I really want to do is help recreate the same experience Sam had with my brother, “he paused. “Well with one rather significant difference at the end, I’ll admit.” 

“If it’s just about killing Tyler you don’t need me. Why not let me go?” Litton ignored the incredulous and slightly accusatory glare that Sam was directing at him.

“You do know I can hear you right?” Sam asked, fists clenched, tone deadpan. Angus let out a cruel laugh.

“One hell of a superior officer you have there, Tyler.” The sardonic tone chilled Sam.

Angus waved the gun at them and then motioned at the cupboard.

“You two get in there and play nice.” He added as he prodded them inside at gunpoint, shutting the door behind them. “You’ve got less than an hour I’m afraid, but do try to make the most of it won’t you? After that I’m afraid you’re going to be lonely Mr. Litton.”

All in all the sound of the key turning in the lock was probably the worst noise Sam had heard that day.   
  
  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

Sam looked around his new surroundings, with the exclusion of a small stack of dust covered boxes in the corner; the cupboard had been almost completely emptied. The remaining space was still cramped but large enough for the two men to share if they sat opposite each other, either cross-legged (like Litton) or with their knees bent toward themselves (like Sam).  

“Right, so what do you think our chances are of getting out of this mess alive?” Sam turned to face Litton.

“Yours or mine?” he asked, Litton shrugged.

“Either.”

“I wouldn’t say the odds were good.” Sam paused. “Then again...” Sam trailed off. 

“Then again?” Litton prompted.

“I reckon we could take him between the two of us. I’ll tackle him when he comes back, then you could grab his gun and kick him in the knackers.”

Litton smirked.

“I think you’ve been in A-division too long, Tyler.” Sam rested his head on his knees and bit back a groan.

“You might have a point.”

To Sam’s dismay the silence didn’t survive very long.

 “Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ‘ave anything you want to do before you die?”

Sam faced the man with an incredulous expression. 

“Are you serious?”

“It’s an honest question.” Litton muttered defensively, Sam groaned.

“An’ the Guv thinks I’m a girl.”

“Fine. I won’t ask again.”   It didn’t take long for an awkward silence to develop as Litton sulked. Eventually Sam grew bored.

“There is someone.” He admitted, amused at the sudden glint in Litton’s eyes.

“Ah... say no more!” Sam shook his head.

“Nothin’ like that. We’ve got a good friendship going and I don’t want to be the one to ruin it by complicating matters.”

“Tyler, as long as the bird hasn’t got a ring on her finger there’s no reason why you can’t make a pass.”

Sam avoided eye contact.

“Ooh she’s married?”

Sam wasn’t sure how to respond to that so he didn’t, Litton seemed to interpret his silence as confirmation and nodded sagely.

“Ah. Cest la vie. No the end of the world though, you can always shag her on the sly.”

Sam snorted causing Litton to laugh.

“What about you Litton?” Sam couldn’t help asking, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Me?” Sam nodded and Litton leaned back against the wall with a goofy grin. “That’s easy. I’d convince Hunt’s wife to run away with me.”  Sam’s eyes bulged. 

“Do you ‘ave a death wish?” Litton was still smiling with a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Have you _seen_ the gorgeous minx, Tyler?” Sam shook his head.  “Your loss. She’s about ten years his junior, legs up to here,” he gestured vaguely above his waist, “an’ breasts that make Ursula Andress look like a flat-chested nine-year-old.” Litton leaned in toward Sam and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m telling you, if my wife looked _anything_ like that I wouldn’t let her out of my sight. I certainly wouldn’t drag her along to every fancy do, like Hunt does, so she can be ogled by other men while he props up the bar.”

Sam grimaced as he considered what Gene would do to the man that shagged his ‘missus’.  He couldn’t repress the mental imagery of Litton tied to the roof of the Cortina (in nothing but his underwear) while Gene demonstrated his driving skills. 

“You’ve got balls Litton, I’ll give you that.”

Litton grinned. “Speaking of balls, do you feel like getting a little bit of our own back?” Sam blinked and was momentarily winded when Litton threw a box at him.

Within a few minutes both men were rummaging through the boxes as fast as they could, removing anything that looked remotely valuable and doing their best to damage it in some way. As far as revenge went Sam thought it was a bit pathetic but he had to concede it wasn’t a bad morale booster. Sam was busy scratching a set of Beatles vinyls, and feeling slightly blasphemous while doing so, when Litton abruptly fell silent. Glancing at him Sam saw the man was engrossed in what looked like an old school exercise book, flicking through the pages with an ashen expression on his face. Starting to feel slightly concerned Sam nudged Litton’s foot with his own, causing the man to look up. 

“What’ve you got there?” 

 

Litton stared at him and then wordlessly passed the notebook over. Giving Litton a perplexed look, Sam turned the book over in his hands and, with piqued curiosity, flicked idly through the dusty pages.

There were at least fifty pages with one name written on each line. The only slight variation to the list was an occasional strike drawn through a name, complete with a date pencilled in the adjacent margin.

Litton pointed to a group of three struck out names near the end of the book. 

"Those are the Parkers. Stan Parker, Mary Parker an’ Andrew their twelve-year-old boy. They were killed by a car bomb three years ago on this date. We tried everything to catch the bastard but couldn't find a single solid lead."

Scanning the list again Sam spotted a familiar name.

"Katherine Miller. She was reported missing last month." Sam shook his head. Litton looked over to the next page.

"John Dawson. I remember that case and I’ll wager Hunt does too. It was all over the papers as an example of the uselessness of the city's Criminal Investigation Department."

With a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach Sam turned back over the pages and started counting. All in all there were twenty-two names crossed off the list. And even more disturbing was how the handwriting seemed to mature from the untidy scrawl, of a young teenager, to the meticulous penmanship of an adult. Apparently Angus Cole had been no stranger to holding grudges even before his brother's situation. 

Litton gave him a significant look.

"Some of the dates go back thirty years."

Sam nodded.

"I know, but the majority of murders have been recent, over the past five years."

Curiosity getting the best of him Sam turned to the last page of the notebook that had been filled in. Not unexpectedly he saw that the last name on the list was his own - underlined, and in capital letters - exactly as it had been written on the note he had received this morning, 

Behind him Litton let out a low whistle.

"Well shit."

Without saying anything Sam passed the book back to Litton who looked as if he wanted to say something but was trying to pick his words carefully.

_“_ Cheer up, Tyler!” 

Sam looked up wearily and then almost laughed. The absurdity of someone he was spending his last moments of life with not using his given name had suddenly struck him.

“It’s Sam.”

“What?”

Rolling his eyes he elaborated slightly.

“You can call me Sam.” Litton grinned.

“Ah. Shared captivity entitles familiarity?” he asked, tapping the side of his nose.

“Something like that.” Sam smiled; he thought it was probably unnecessarily morbid to reply that he didn’t want the last person he heard his name from to by the psychopath sitting outside the cupboard with a gun.

“Well, if we’re exchanging given names I suppose you can call me Gene.” Sam just stared, thinking he must have misheard the man or else just caught the punch line of a bad joke.

“What?”

Litton reached into his pocket and threw over his badge. Sam turned the leather over in his hands and then opened it. Sure enough, written in plain font, were the words: “ _This is to certify that Eugene Litton holds the rank of Detective Chief Inspector_ ”.

Sam looked back at Litton. 

“G-Gene?” Sam stuttered and shuddered all at once, unable to ignore how wrong it felt. 

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Just trying it out.” In his head Sam repeated the mantra ‘Gene Hunt, Gene Litton’ until it felt somewhat natural.

“If it bothers your delicate sensibilities that much, you can go back to using ‘Litton’ you big girl.” The man growled. Sam blinked, apart from the absent of the nickname ‘Gladys’ from the diatribe Litton had just done an extremely passable impersonation of Gene Hunt.

“You did that on purpose.” Sam didn’t bother to hide the accusation in his tone and Litton didn’t bother holding back his laughter.

“Yeah fun doing impressions of that oaf isn’t it?”

“No offence, Eugene, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to pull of calling you ‘Gene’ with a straight face.” Litton shuddered.

“Christ Sam, Eugene? Stick to Litton.” Sam grinned but felt a little guilty.

“You sure?”

“Course, Gene’s a stupid name anyway. Only good for girls an' poofs.  _Litton_ _'s_ got character.”  Sam opened his mouth to retort but was struck dumb by the sound of someone on the outside fumbling with the lock. As the cupboard door was pulled open slowly Sam paled at the sight of the gun barrel aimed right between his eyes.

“Time’s up boys, did you miss me?”

“Fuck off.” Angus snorted.

“I’m hurt, Mr. Litton, however just for that I think I’ll let you stay in here for a little while longer.”

Keeping his gun focused directly on the gap between Sam’s eyes, Angus tossed Sam the key to the cupboard.

“I want you out first, and lock up behind you.” He stepped away from the door to give Sam room to leave the cupboard, unconsciously lowering his gun as he moved backwards. Seizing the small window of opportunity Sam threw himself forward, using both of his hands to trap the arm holding the gun as he tackled the taller man to the ground. Struggling against Angus for control Sam yelled over his shoulder for Litton to help him but the D.C.I. was still inside the cupboard staring at the two of them and the gun, frozen in shock. Cursing, Sam turned back to face Angus but the distraction had given the man the leverage he needed to roll out from underneath Sam.  

There was a gun pressing into Sam’s back before he even registered his face being slammed into the carpet.

“It would be in your best interest to get up very slowly and to lock the FUCKING door, NOW!” Sam laughed bitterly, feeling mildly victorious over getting Angus to lose his temper. Sam smirked.

“What if I don’t? You’ll kill me?” Sam stifled a second laugh as he realised he had been around Gene for far too long.

“Sam, we both know that you’re dead already but so far I have no desire to kill your colleague. If you cooperate I’ll give you my word he’ll survive.” Sam glared at him. “Of course I can always shoot him first if you prefer.” He smirked. “Do you want to die with blood on your hands Sam?”

Sam glanced over at Litton who had snapped out of whatever temporary insanity had gripped him earlier and was eyeing him nervously.

“Do we have a deal?” to emphasise his point Angus stepped back from Sam and aimed the gun at Litton. Very slowly, Sam nodded. Angus grinned and looping his hand under Sam’s armpit pulled him up and dragged him roughly into a corner of the room.

“Right, on second thoughts instead of locking the door, you just stand right there then and don’t move.”

Grinning like a lunatic Angus faced Litton. 

“Now I have a proposition for you.”

“Excuse me?” Litton asked, disgusted.

“In a few seconds I’m going to give you your gun back. If you shoot Tyler I’ll let you leave. If you don’t I’ll kill you.” Litton blinked.

“You want me to do what?!”

Angus smiled and spoke very slowly and very calmly.

“Shoot D.I. Tyler here and you’re free to leave. Else you stay, I kill you, and then I still kill Sam.”

“I’m not going to fall for your fucking tricks.” Litton spat the words out viciously and Cole shook his head with an expression of infinite patience.

 “No tricks, Litton. The world isn’t split into heroes and villains. I'm just trying to right a wrong for Reg.” He gestured towards where Tyler was quietly standing, unflinching, as he listened to the entire conversation. “So that’s the deal. I’m only really interested in Sam so if you shoot him, you’re free to go.”

“You’re mad. What’s to stop me from turning my gun on you as soon as I’ve got it back?”

“I’ll be pointing _my_ gun at Sam’s head the entire time. You point your gun anywhere else and it’ll be a closed casket funeral for this one.” Sam cringed, Litton looked at him. The shorter man offered him a weak smile.

“You can go ahead and do it, no ‘ard feelings.” Angus simpered and held the gun out to Litton.

“Ooh how touching!” Litton ignored the maniac and instead glared at Sam.

“Are you insane?” Sam glared right back.

“Look, we both knew I wasn’t getting out of this the moment we walked in here. So just go ahead, take the gun and pull the trigger.”

“Sam. I can’t.” Sam gave him a pitying look and changed to a softer tone.

“Litton, I won’t blame you. I won’t tell anyone, you can say it was crossfire.” 

“Oh! I do so love police conspiracies!” 

“Shut up!”

“Litton ignore him! Just get it over and done with!”

Litton looked at the Inspector and then at the lunatic. With a firm hand he grabbed the gun from Angus’ outstretched palm. Raising it slowly, he lined the barrel up with Sam’s right shoulder. Too high to hit the lungs and too far to hit the heart or the throat. Litton hoped that if he could just skim the edge he might even miss the bone and get a clean exit wound.

Aiming carefully Litton squeezed the trigger and watched as Sam’s entire body recoiled backwards, impacting the wall with a soft thud before sliding down as it collapsed into itself. The smaller man was slumped on the ground with his left arm flung over his chest. He wasn’t moving and blood was already starting to flow.

 Litton’s entire stomach sank as he realized the bullet must have gone wide and hit the heart. Across from him Angus laughed. 

“I didn’t expect you to kill him!” he shouted gleefully. “Well, that’s my job done, Reg should be satisfied.” Putting his own gun down on the carpet he slid it toward Litton and then stood with his hands raised in the air. “I surrender.” 

Litton stared at him unable to register the action or the words. Angus smiled.

“What are you waiting for? Arrest me officer. I'm giving myself up.” The humour in the tone snapped Litton back into action.

Kicking the gun on the carpet towards the other side of the room Litton stalked towards Cole and, with all the force he could muster, brought the butt of the pistol down across his face. Hearing the sound of a cheekbone snap, Litton grinned and brought the pistol down again on the back of Cole’s head, watching with malice as he collapsed, rendered unconscious but not yet dead.

“L-Litton... ” Dropping his gun, Litton turned to see that Sam had shifted his left arm to reveal a bullet wound in his shoulder exactly where Litton had aimed. With the weight of Sam’s arm no longer there to stem the flow, blood was streaming out of the wound and down the man’s chest. Within a second Litton was kneeling beside the other man, shrugging off his own shirt and pressing it down firmly over the wounded shoulder. Sam grimaced, but forced the corners of his lips to twitch upwards.

“N...Nice shot.” 

“Nice acting.” Litton muttered not looking up from the wound.

Sam chuckled very weakly.

“Wor-worked didn’t it? The blood made it... c-convincing, you must have h-hit the brachial artery.” Cringing Litton eyed the crimson stain rapidly spreading across the material. Sam was babbling between rasped breaths. His face was too pale and there was far too much blood.  

“Sam... can you hold this with your left hand for a minute? I need to get that team of yours in here.”

Sam nodded and Litton helped guide Sam’s hand to where it needed to be, before running toward the door and throwing it open.

He was surprised to see two blobbers already waiting with a stretcher behind Gene Hunt who stood towering above him with his gun levelled directly at Litton’s nose. He glared at Litton and lowered the gun, his entire manner changing as he took in the blood on Litton’s jacket and the fact that his D.I. wasn’t standing behind him.

 

"Tyler." It should have been a question but it wasn’t.

 

"He's been shot... Cole's unconscious." Stepping aside Litton leaned back against the wall as C.I.D. pushed into the room. He quietly observed as Hunt took over his position next to Sam, throwing his camel hair coat down on top of the shirt now saturated with Sam’s blood and pressing both hands down onto the wound. Without once removing his (now bloodied) hands from Sam’s shoulder, Hunt barked out orders to his officers and repositioned himself so that the two uniformed men could lift Sam onto the stretcher.  As Sam was carried out the room, Litton noticed the way the smaller man’s head was beginning to loll against the material. Turning away, he only took in a fleeting glance of Hunt’s retreating back as the D.C.I. shuffled sideways alongside the stretcher and climbed into the back of the ambulance after Sam. 

D.S. Carling followed him out soon after, half carrying, half dragging, a handcuffed Cole (who was foolishly returning to consciousness) toward where a group of plod were waiting. Litton was pleased to note the addition of a black eye and a broken nose to Cole’s already battered face and made a note to commend Carling to Rathbone the next chance he got.  

Still inside the room D.C. Skelton was squatting on the ground holding the two guns, and a notepad in his hands. When he felt Litton’s eyes on him he placed Cole’s gun back down on the carpet and, standing up, walked over to meet him.

“That yours, sir?” he asked holding out Litton’s gun. Litton nodded and took it, absently noting that it was still warm to the touch. Skelton eyed him suspiciously but said nothing, just jotted down something in his notebook and, with an inexplicably disgusted look, turned his back on him to resume his inspection of the other gun.

Even though he was slightly puzzled by the younger man’s behaviour the urge to get out of the house was much stronger than the urge to satisfy his curiosity, so he left. Heading for his car he made his way quickly past the plods (who were still struggling to keep curious civilians from crossing the cordon) and into his vehicle. As he pulled away from the house Litton clung to the hope that D.I. Tyler had the common sense to stay the hell away from the white light and heavenly choirs.   
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

 

  
 

When Sam finally found himself returning to consciousness the first sight to plague his vision was the pale blue ceiling of his hospital room. The second sight was his irate D.C.I. who, in addition to looking like he hadn’t got any sleep, was giving Sam a disconcerting smile that sent shivers down his spine.   


  
"So tell me Sam, now that yer awake, is there anythin’ you want to get off your chest?" Sam shook his head.

  
"Er... no, Guv." Gene edged closer, leaning over the bed so that he was a nose breadth away from Sam’s face.

  
"Nothin’ you might want to tell me?"

Sam eyed Gene suspiciously but remained silent.

  
"Really Sam, no statements you made earlier as you were bleeding on the carpet that you might want to revise?" The tone was dangerously quiet for Gene. 

  
"What are you getting at?" Sam attempted a confused expression but knew he failed when a hand shot out and gripped him by the collar of his hospital gown. Gene's fisting of the material pulled it tight across Sam’s throat, almost restricting his breathing. 

  
"I want to know why you've told me you were shot by Cole when Chris 'as told me the only gun at the scene that 'ad fired a bullet was Litton's."

  
"Gene-" 

  
"Oh, and while you're at it I'd like to know why the 'ell you're covering for scum like 'im." Struggling as much as he could without jostling his bandaged shoulder Sam tried to batt away Gene’s hand with his good arm.

Gene glared at Sam but released his hold on the material. As Sam wriggled and pushed himself up into a seated position Gene pulled one of the hospital chairs toward Sam’s bedside and sat down. Sitting with his arms folded across his chest, Gene looked up and commenced drilling holes into Sam with his eyes. Rubbing his throat gingerly with his left hand, Sam started talking.   
  


"Cole didn't shoot me but he was going to. If Litton hadn't shot me instead then Cole would've killed me." Gene’s voice, when he finally spoke, remained quiet but was anything but calm.   


  
"'ow did Litton get 'is fucking gun? An’ once the fucking bastard ‘ad it why didn’t 'e shoot the fucking criminal?!" Sam cringed.   
  


"Cole handed it to him, told Litton that as long as he shot me he could go free but if he pointed the gun anywhere else he’d shoot me then and there. He said I was dead either way but if Litton did it then he would live."   
  
Not looking at Gene's face Sam instead focused on the man's hands which were now gripping the chair so hard, his fingertips and knuckles were turning white. Taking a breath, Sam continued. "It would've been pointless, both of us getting killed, if one of us had a chance to get out of there." Sam thought he heard a snort but when he looked up he saw that Gene had turned his face away, avoiding eye contact with Sam just as resolutely as Sam had avoided it with him. 

"He didn't want to do it, I ‘ad to convince him an’ he aimed for the least damaging spot he could. It was only bad luck that he hit the brachial artery."

  
There was no response; Sam couldn’t tell whether he should be relieved or not.

"Gene, Cole would have killed me. The man only surrendered after Litton shot me, when he thought I was dead." Glancing up at Gene he noticed the man was still gripping the chair tightly, slight tremors shaking his body. Sam tried to gauge what his reaction was from his expression but with the man’s head turned sidewards, and with Sam incapable of moving to a better viewpoint, Gene's face was obscured from sight.

Sam called out his name again without receiving any recognition he’d been heard.

"Gene, I mean it. Cole wouldn't have stopped until I was dead."

Without warning Gene stood up quickly, upheaving the chair in his haste, and stormed out the room without a word or even a glance at Sam.

"Gene? Gene?!"

Frustrated Sam leaned back into the pillow. He hoped that where ever Litton happened to be there were enough witnesses to make Gene pause for thought.  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Gene found Litton in the waiting room. He was sitting hunched over on one of the crappy plastic chairs with his elbows on his knees and his hands raking through his hair. His entire posture looked defeated and so unlike the smarmy git he was used to dealing with that Gene found his rage slipping. Slipping, but not gone. Storming over Gene grabbed Litton by the arm and dragged him to the nearest wall, slamming him against it and using the hold to pin him there. Litton’s still looked half asleep but his eyes widened as they registered Gene’s face.

Gene curled his free hand into a fist and slammed it straight into Litton’s stomach, particularly enjoying the sound of the man gasping for breath as he sunk to his knees. 

Standing back he allowed Litton room to slowly make his way back to his feet again.

  
“I might have deserved that. How’s Sam?” he wheezed the question out but Gene was shocked he had the gall to ask it at all. Ignoring the concerned look on the man’s face, Gene erased it with his fist, a right hook into the man’s cheek. As Litton started toppling over Gene grabbed him by his shirt and threw him back up against the wall, holding him so that his feet were just touching the ground.

  
“Detective. Inspector. Tyler.” He punctuated each word with another shove against the wall before throwing him back to the ground “Is alive. No bloody thanks to you!” Litton was shaking. 

  
“He asked me to do it.” Gene laughed and resisted the urge to spit in his face.

  
“Oh so you were doin’ ‘im a favour then an’ not savin’ yer own skin. Funny that. ‘ow would you like bein’ shot Litton?” To his horror Gene thought he saw tears in the dark-haired man’s eyes, but they were quickly brushed away on a sleeve.

  
“There wasn’t any other way! If the situation had been reversed –“

  
“Sam would NEVER ‘ave shot you!” Gene roared. To his surprise Litton nodded.

  
“I know. But I would’ve wanted ‘im to.” Gene eyed Litton and hated him for looking so damn sincere. With his face not twisted into its usual sneer and his eyes still watery he looked more pathetic than anything else. Gene shook his head.

  
“That’s easy to say Litton.” Suddenly the man was back on his feet and stepping forwards, pushing Gene backwards with enough force to create some space between them.

  
“I’m not a fucking monster Hunt. I would’ve told Sam to shoot me.”

They stared each other down for a moment. Eventually Gene nodded.

  
“Fine. But you’re not going in there.” He gestured with a thumb toward Sam’s room. “Nurse with the big tits said family only ‘till they reckon he’s feelin’ up to more. Any of them nurses ask, Skelton and I are his brothers. Comprende?” Litton pulled a face but nodded. As Litton started rubbing at his eyes Gene couldn’t help but notice way the man was swaying on his feet. “An’ fer chrissakes go ‘ome and get some kip. You look like dog shit.” Gene knew he didn’t look any better but gave Litton a look that dared him to say otherwise.   


Wisely, Litton kept his mouth shut. Raking a hand through his hair he nodded toward Gene again and left. 

  
When he was out of sight Gene turned around and made his way back down the corridor towards Sam's room.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
“So...”   
  


“So?”

  
“Those knuckles are looking sore Gene.” Sam observed with a disapproving tone.

  
“If you want to ask, then stop pissin’ about and ask, Gladys.”

  
“How’s Litton?” Gene smiled only because he knew it would annoy Sam.

  
“Better than you.”

  
“Gene.”

  
“The man’s fine, I barely even touched the snivelling toad.”

  
“Well that’s a relief; don’t know what I was so concerned about now.” Sam ground out sarcastically. Gene rolled his eyes.

  
“Look, he was well enough to be able to walk away under ‘is own steam.” Sam snorted.

  
“That’s something, I suppose.”

  
“He’d already beaten ‘imself up about it Sam, it wasn’t worth it.” Gene didn’t even need to look at Sam’s face to know that the man’s expression would be finishing a transition that started at surprised, stopped briefly at pleased before making its way directly to smug.

  
“Oh so now you believe me?”

  
“Shuddup an’ budge over.” Taking his coat off Gene nudged Tyler aside and lay down next to him, on top of the covers, head touching Sam’s slightly in an effort to get to the softer part of the pillow.

  
“Er... Gene?” Sam prodded him with a finger until Gene turned onto his side to face him, propping his head up with one arm.

  
“What?”

  
“What are you doing?” Groaning he lay back down again. 

  
“Getting some shut eye. Bloody tirin’ watching them surgeons hack at yer shoulder an’ chest all night.”

  
“Ah. Right. And you’re in bed with me because?”

  
“That chair murdered my back last night.” Sam stared at him, looking torn between surprise and some other emotion Gene couldn’t describe. Groaning, Gene shifted onto his back again and wriggled in a little closer. “Now. Shut. Up.” Sam laughed.

  
“I didn’t say anything.”

  
“No but you were gonna.” Sam smiled and leaning back into the pillow closed his eyes.

  
“Night, Gene.” There was a long pause.

  
“G’night, Sam.”

  
**  
**

  
 


End file.
